Calm in the Storm
by DukeGirl2001
Summary: Takes place after the season one finale. Red and Liz are traveling together and learning more about each other and themselves. Will be a multi chapter fic. Lizzington of course. Please leave a comment!
1. Chapter 1

_Takes place sometime after the season finale. Somewhat related to my one word prompt Blue in my Words fic. Thanks RedandLizzie for the idea :)_

The first time she saw something different in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, they were sitting across the fire pit from each other, the smoke and the flames and the little bits of glowing ash filling the space between their bodies. The air had been full that night with the scent of verbena and laurel and the moon beyond the trees had illuminated the lake in an ethereal glow.

At first the evening had proceeded like any other spent at the cabin in the hills. They had eaten a simple supper in companionable silence and then made their way into their respective rooms to ready themselves for the cooler temperatures they knew were coming.

The fire had become a sort of unacknowledged tradition when the stayed together at the lake.

Red would emerge from his room first, worn jeans and shirt having replaced his usual attire. He would walk across the living room floor, his socked feet making nary a noise and then stop at the entryway to the porch to collect his boots and hat.

He always wore a hat. Though the ones hanging from the pegs in the cabin seemed to hail from local hunting clubs and eating establishments rather than fine clothiers.

She would hear the solid beat of Red's decent down the old porch steps and she would then wait a few minutes before walking to the kitchen and filling a bucket with ice and adding a few bottles of IPA or something stronger if the mood in the house needed lifting.

Carrying the container by the handle she would let herself out onto the porch and pause, let herself enjoy the view – the lake, the garden belying the current season, the man out in the yard carefully constructing a pile of wood and lighting it aflame.

She enjoyed the nightly ritual, the fire, maybe more than she was ready to admit. But she didn't like to be present for the moment that the flame hit the wood and it all went ablaze. She had tried, but even rational thought could not overcome her emotional reaction to that sight.

The memories were too strong.

So each night she waited. And Red seemed to _understand_ this and never asked or encouraged her to come down sooner. But they never spoke of the matter.

Such was their way.

On the particular night in question she was sitting on an upended tree stump and he on the old workbench that had materialized next to the fire pit on their second visit here. She was enjoying the night, watching the fire, watching the stars, watching the way the light cast shadows through the yard and ended at the edge of the trees.

She had looked up, preparing to ask a question, something mundane about the next day, and had caught him staring. Staring at_ her_. His eyes were trained on her face and the depth of focus in his green eyes made her feel naked despite her multiple layers of clothes she wore.

She shivered in the darkness and she wondered if he detected her reaction or if her body's involuntary response to the surprise - coupled with a little bit of something..._electric_ - was only apparent to her.

He had quickly looked away, and she had not acknowledged the moment despite the hard charging adrenaline coursing through her body.

She had looked back down at her hands, wrapped around a brown glass bottle, felt the wet beads of condensation run down the smooth surface and over her fingers, and contemplated what had just happened.

She had never seen Red unguarded before. Sure, they had been to this cabin, the place she had come to realize held some special meaning to the man sitting across the fire from her.

The cabin seemed to bring with it an aura of peace and tranquility, much welcomed into both of their lives despite their usual absence. There was a familiarity here in the relaxed setting that seemed to allow Red to let down his guard a bit and let the man behind the mask – or bespoke suit – become visible.

She found the man in the regular clothes, the man who cooked scrambled eggs in the early hours of the morning, picked a well worn novel off the shelf to read in the evenings, and who made her feel like she was his equal, a valued participant in his life…well, she found herself drawn to that man more and more every day.

Xxx

The thrumming backbeat of the music pulsed so hard Liz thought she might actually be able to_ see_ the sound waves moving through the air. The club teemed with people, all dressed to kill and well on their way to inebriation.

She tapped her toe against the dark wood bar as she ran her hand along the brass rail. They seemed out of place she thought, old world relics in a venue that was so modern, so _right now_, she would never have known it existed if it hadn't been for Red.

This was their second night in whatever Eastern European city this was. She had lost count, or interest, she wasn't sure, in what their individual destinations were these days. A few days in, a few meetings attended, and they were back on the plane destined for someplace else. Some other reckless city where she knew no one and Red knew everyone.

Or so it seemed.

She missed the gentle simplicity of the cabin. She felt like she _knew _the Red that slept there. Saw another side of him that was absent on their days of travel. Felt like she knew herself better on those visits too. Something akin to happiness creeping into her thoughts on those nights spent eating simple meals and sitting around the fire.

The words of the bartender, spoken in a language she wouldn't be able to understand even if she could hear the words coherently, disrupted her thoughts and she made a gesture that she hoped would be interpreted as she was _fine_, no need for another drink please.

She stirred whatever concoction sat in front of her and tried to chase off her thoughts of unease. Of not fitting in. Her childhood lack of self esteem having reared it's ugly head as of late and she found herself wondering where it was exactly that she_ did_ belong.

Certainly not here.

And where _was_ Red?

She eyed the dance floor and watched the twenty something revelers move this way and that, their hair slicked back with sweat and glowing necklaces casting alien colors onto their damp skin and lower faces.

Sometimes she wished she could be one of them. _Alive _and in the moment. Not worried about Berlin or loss or where she fit into the world.

She looked down at her simple black pants and shirt. She had thought them elegant when she purchased them at one of their stops the first week after everything went down. They were Italian, well made and well tailored to her body. She tended to wear them with a pair of red heels and felt herself almost sophisticated when looking at her reflection in the mirror.

But she was nothing compared to them, she thought, watching a boy certainly not even 18 years of age do unspeakable things to a girl of similar age in the corner of the room.

Why did she wish sometimes it were _her _in that corner?

She pushed the thought away.

Why did she even come here tonight? She should have stayed in the hotel and read. Or watched a movie in a language she didn't know. There would have been subtitles.

Probably.

No, no, instead she had wandered out to the club Red had pointed out earlier. He had a meeting with some associates he didn't name and about which she didn't ask. She didn't think he was talking about anything pertaining to her and she had let the rest of Red's dealings go. Whatever he did, he did, and she wasn't going to change him.

Not sure that she wanted to.

She idly rubbed her hand over her scarred wrist and contemplated getting up and walking back to the hotel. The music was so loud she could feel the headache coming in her temples.

She watched the bartender mix something impossibly complicated down the bar and kept watching while the liquid in the glass turned an incandescent shade of blue.

_This was not her life. _

No one knew her here. No one cared. She could jump head first out of the fifth story window to her right and no one would no the difference.

She had to stop thinking like this. It didn't help anyone.

She stared back through the crowd and her gaze landed on a man cutting through the dance floor purposefully but with understated ease.

He moved around the endless bodies moving and writhing and dancing and continued farther towards the bar.

His shirt and pants were untouched by the uncontained fervor around him and he walked slowly towards the end of the room where she was seated.

She moved her gaze farther up the approaching man's body and saw eyes, green and familiar, looking back at her.

Red.

And the look he gave her was one she had seen before. _One time_.

And her heart leaped a bit in her chest.

Xxx

"They said there was an American at the bar", he offered by way of explanation and smiled at her like he _really was_ happy she was here.

"I got bored," she mumbled. Her gaze still on the wood. Her fingers twiddling a paper napkin back and forth.

His smile was doing strange things to her insides, and she tried to figure out if it was Red or the fact that she was recognized, found, by someone (anyone), that made her feel this way.

She decided it was a little bit of both and looked back up.

He had his glasses on and for some reason that made her heart skip a little more and she wondered if perhaps the stress of the whole situation with her life was actually causing her to loose her mind _right there_ on that barstool in some foreign town.

With glowing drinks no less.

That thought made her smile a tiny bit and Red canted his head to the left and smiled back at her.

"I'm glad you came." And there was something in those words, some tiny note, that made her certain that he meant it. He _was_ glad that she came.

Her smile broadened and she gestured towards the seat next to her.

"Buy you a drink?" She offered but knew he wouldn't bite.

"Lizzie, Lizzie. I would like to see you try. But, that man over there doesn't speak a lick of English and you don't speak a word of Ukranian and I don't think whatever conversation transpired between the two of you would end up with a glass of scotch sitting right here."

He pointed to the bar and she had to laugh. Sometimes he was just so _Red_.

Her laugh made him lean a little farther towards her and his hand crept to the back of her chair and she decided that she liked _this_ Red too.

The one who found her in dark clubs after meetings with strange men (who were most likely up to no good) and who recognized when her smile was real.

"What were you thinking?" He asked and she could feel his breath on the tender place below her ear when he leaned over to speak.

The shiver was back and she felt a blush starting to creep it's way up her face.

"When?" She countered.

"When you first got here and sat down? I saw you looking over that way and looking rather pensive." He motioned towards the dance floor but kept his eyes on her.

"Oh, you saw me then? I thought you were, I don't know, in some secret chamber under the basement."

"Oh Lizzie, you and your ideas. No, I was just at the table over there –" he pointed to one at the edge of the dark corner fartherest from her. "And I always see you," he added and she wondered if there was more to that statement than Red watching Liz drink a questionable cocktail.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

And he looked confused.

"I was watching them." She said and she hated the tinge of wistfulness that ran though her words. What was she doing?

"What?" His usual intuition for understanding her without explanation seemed to be failing him and he needed further clarification.

"Watching them dance. They look so…free. And happy. And sometimes that makes me…"

"Sad." He answered for her. And she wasn't sure if it was his uncanny ability to finish her sentences or something familiar within his own thoughts that gave him the answer she had yet to voice.

She looked up at him and the tender light was evident once again in her eyes and she swallowed to cover up something that felt a little bit like tears.

God she was a mess. Is this what being on the run was doing to her?

"Come with me," he said, standing and reaching his hand out toward her.

"Where?" Her eyes darting around the room.

"Just come." He repeated his words again and then reached to take her hand.

She slid down off of the stool and moved to follow him. Her hand still in his and the deep vibration of the bass moving through both of them equally.

Xxx

The air was cooler than before when Red pushed the unmarked door open and led her out onto the darkened sidewalk. The street was deserted, not even a car moved along the empty roadway.

"Where are we going?" She asked with suspicion more because she _had to_ than because she cared.

"Nowhere." He responded and she stopped to look up at him, the music from the club quieter now but still there.

The look, the_ look_ was back again, and she swore his eyes would be the death of her tonight. She did not want to feel.

"Dance with me Lizzie." And the way he asked was so tender and perfect and true that she felt herself step towards him and lay her cheek against his chest before her mind had even a moment to process anything that was happening.

"Dance with me." He whispered almost to himself and moved his arms further around her, circling her in something that felt a lot like inclusion and belonging.

He began to move and his steps were small despite the huge volume coming from inside, the throngs of bodies, the neon lights. His moves were small and hers.

"Thank you." The words were quiet as they left his lips. And she wondered what he was talking about so she moved her head from its gentle perch and looked up at him.

"For being you," he said and the tears she had held at bay before began to brim.

She looked back down and brought herself closer to him. Refusing to acknowledge that this would mean anything. _That this dance on this street with this man was just something that happened._

Not something that would change her life forever.

TBC…

**A/N – Thanks so much for reading – I hope you enjoyed it! I hope to continue this in a few chapters…**


	2. Chapter 2

_Several months earlier..._

Darkness had fallen over the road to the cabin by the time Dembe turned the black sedan off the paved highway and onto the washed out gravel drive. The hour was late, and Red knew without having to look at the glowing clock on the dash, that morning would come all too soon.

They had been driving for hours.

Red's eyes, having already adjusted to the lack of light, surveyed the woods outside the rear of the vehicle and noted that nothing seemed to have changed since his last visit months ago.

That was something, he thought. Some bit of peace in the chaos that fully encompassed his world these days.

Minutes later the car came to an abrupt halt and Red watched as Dembe opened the driver's door and walked forward, dragging a fallen tree limb out of their path. There must have been a storm. Wind.

The bright dome lights, illuminating upon Dembe's return, interrupted Red's musings and he felt the onslaught of feeling begin to overtake him and he mentally steeled himself to push the thoughts of fear and unease back into the background.

Still looking out the window he adjusted his gaze inward and saw the reflection of Liz across the backseat from him. She sat ramrod straight, legs crossed at the ankle, same as she had for hours.

She hadn't said a word since they left the main interstate and he wondered if perhaps he should say something now. Break the silence. Let her know where they were going. Ask about her thoughts.

But he found that he didn't know how.

He was so out of practice with this. With caring.

When she had appeared from behind the taxi door all those hours ago he couldn't deny that an overwhelming feeling, some unpracticed emotion, had overtaken him right there in the driveway. Right next to the car. He had been so sure that he wouldn't see her again. So, _so_ sure.

After Sam. After the things she had said to him. After everything that had imploded in her life.

After she had left, after she had hurled those words at him and after he had told her he would leave - he hadn't been prepared for the feelings that over took him. Didn't want to dwell on them, just wanted to get away from them, from her, from everything. Though, even if a gun had been aimed at his head he doesn't think he can define what everything meant exactly.

Just that she was so much to him. Still is.

And so he had allowed himself to define his elated response to her return as relief and had quickly moved her into the stately residence to decide on their next step.

And that discussion, that step, had led to this road and even now he wasn't sure why he had picked this place of all places.

His cabin, his woods, his place of silence amidst the storm.

Dembe, having reached the final turn before the lake, shifted the vehicle into low gear and continued the slow ascent up the hill until the darkened wood structure came into view.

Red's home.

Xxx

Red's arms were spread wide, stretching the fabric of his gray vest and white shirt across the muscles of his back, his jacket absent - discarded somewhere inside the cabin she supposed. His hands, bare in the cold air, gripped the weathered railing with more force than necessary as was evidenced by the white skin of his knuckles.

She moved out of the doorway and farther out onto the porch, still not sure if he had heard her open and shut the screened door. It had squeaked slightly at the hinges and she thought he would turn her way but he hadn't. Lost in thought or intentionally ignoring her presence. She wasn't sure.

She moved to the rail, a few feet to the side of him, and placed her own hands on the damp wood. She looked out into the darkness, trying to see what he saw, or anything at all, but all she could make out were the trees, the ground, and the incandescent glow of the moon partially hidden behind the clouds.

She stood, for what seemed like hours, in silence while the cold permeated her clothes and tried to make her feel.

Finally, when her fingers had all but turned to ice and the tops of her ears had lost any feeling at all she began to move, ready to return to the house and find something – something strong – to calm her thoughts and push her into restful oblivion.

He chose to move then, taking a half step towards her, hands still on the rail and looking out into the night.

The low rumble of his voice, the impossibly low timbre he seemed to reserve just for her quelled her nerves as he spoke her name. "Lizzie." She stopped moving at waited for him to continue. "Tom was –"

"Don't tell me about Tom." She interrupted him before he even started. Fury made her forget the cold outside and all she could think was why? Why did he think that he had any right to talk to her about anyone? Anything? He killed her father. And now he was going to tell her how to feel? How what she was feeling was wrong? That it was all some game with Tom and because her marriage wasn't real her feelings – god, what was she feeling? Loss, pain, anger…that must not be real too?

"I know what you're going to say. That I have no_ right_ to feel this way, it was all a game. None if it was real," her voice steely, the emotion creeping in only at the last word.

"No Lizzie." His deep voice soft and soothing, such a contrast from how she tried to imagine him, the monster, the man who killed her father.

The man with the answers.

"What I was going to say is that I have been through loss. And for whatever it's worth, I'm still standing and would be much obliged to help you in anyway possible. Just give me the word. If you need to drown your sorrows, you've come to the right place" – he gestured then at the unadorned cabin window and she spied a well-stocked liquor cabinet just beyond the glass. "No one knows you're here," he continued. "And it will stay that way. Stay as long as you want. I know what it is to grieve."

The anger, the fury, she had felt just moments earlier lost its fire and began to subside, to loll gently into fatigue. Suddenly she felt tired. So, so tired. And alone. What would she be without Tom? Who was she?

She hadn't heard Red move but then she felt him lay his left hand ever so gently over her right. His hands were soft. Not what she had expected. And warm. Something passing between them despite the chill in the air.

"And it has to take it's own time." With that he withdrew his hand and moved back into the house.

She looked after him for a long while after that. Trying to agree the man she thought he was and the man speaking to her here – and she just couldn't do it – they were too different.

Stepping carefully she turned to walk back into the house. Opening the door she turned to walk down the hall, barely pausing to take in her surroundings. Not noticing the framed photos on the wall or the man watching her from the shadows of the kitchen.

Xxx

He hoped she was sleeping. He hadn't heard anything from her room in over an hour and they still had time before the sun began to push the darkness from the horizon.

He turned the tumbler round and round on the table, wet rings of condensation smearing and dampening the side of his hand. Sighing he leaned down to run his palm across his temple.

What was he doing? Why had he brought her_ here_ of all places?

Rising briefly he made his way into the kitchen and refilled his glass.

He remembered the first time he saw her. Well, the first time seeing her alive and in person after all the years of catching up on her movements from afar. She had descended those metal stairs, one high-heeled foot in front of the other, and the look on her face had been almost haughty. Like she had been better than him, like she didn't know him – which, rationally, he knew that she didn't, but still…

He remembered the animosity, yes animosity, that had risen up inside of him as she had looked at him in that secret government facility, like a caged animal, like a criminal, which, he guesses he was. Is.

He remembered how he had stared at her, trying to gauge her reaction to the words he would say, the questions he would ask. She had been so different than what he had expected – a generic girl – woman. An FBI agent that had existed to him only in his mind. But what was in front of him was not the Lizzie from his imagination but an independent woman who was looking at him like…well, he didn't even know. Just knew that it hurt.

And he felt anger towards her.

And hurt and anger were emotions so long repressed inside of him that following their arrival came a twinge of fear that this girl, this woman, had made him feel more in thirty seconds than the rest of the world had in years.

And then he had slipped into character and that was that. And how _was _Baltimore?

And then everything else had happened.

And now they were here. In his real house. With his real things. And his real life. And how had so much changed so fast?

Rubbing his temple again he took a long swallow from his drink, set it back down on the table and stood.

Xxx

His socked feet didn't make a sound as he walked down the hallway, taking in the photos of his aunt, of his uncle, of better times. Pausing momentarily at the colorful drawing of a family, all scribbled lines and thick crayons. The vibrant colors long faded. His life, long faded away.

He stopped in front of her room. Taking care with the knob he opened the door slowly and stepped into the darkened area. The sounds of her even breathing filling the space.

Reaching the side of her bed he leaned down and pulled the faded quilt up over her shoulders, taking care to tuck it in slightly, he didn't want her to be cold in the nighttime. He didn't want her to feel anything that she was feeling now.

He just wanted her to be happy. And safe. And…

And didn't want to consider what that meant for him.

Giving himself one more minute to take her in, he watched her breathe, her dark hair spread across the pillow and her fingers tangled in the sheets. Absently he massaged his left shoulder with his right hand. The damp weather tightening the muscles damaged in the incursion, in the aftermath of Anslo and Fitch.

He would have traded his life for hers. Still would – without hesitation.

She moved, shifting to her side, her profile turned towards Red.

Without thinking he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. So carefully, so softly.

With that he turned and walked out of her room, silently shutting the door behind him.

Xxx


	3. Chapter 3

_Takes place sometime after S2E2. I realize this is a little rough – I'm trying. And I figure that trying is better than nothing, right? Please leave a comment – good or bad. It's great to get feedback from all of you _

He could feel the cold seeping through the glass as he stood staring through the window. The buildings beyond the pane appeared stately and serene, the late hour eliminating any pedestrian movement. His image reflected in the close proximity of the window and saw himself as an outsider would. Tired. Undone. His shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and his collar open. The beginnings of a beard roughening his lower face.

Ordinary humanity bleeding through or dying, he wasn't sure which.

He heard her approaching the room before the knock sounded on the paneled hotel room door. His awareness of her whereabouts fine-tuned after all the months of shared proximity.

Throwing back the last of his bourbon he turned to see her enter the room.

Xxx

The sleek door was heavy underneath her hands and she had to brace her shoulder against the smooth surface in order to push into the empty space.

Stepping into the entry she stopped. Hands at her sides, mentally bracing for what she knew might be inside. Scanning the carpet for discarded shirts or ties or shoes.

Waiting to see who kept him company this time.

Instead she saw a single figure standing in front of the picture window. Unmoving, with the exception of the hand lifting the heavy tumbler to his lips, still except for the eyes watching her.

Red.

Her pulse quickened and she felt awareness wash over her. All traces of Red, the man she knew from the cabin, the man who held her hand, the man who laughed and enjoyed a good meal. That Red was absent from this room and this man, this person in front of her, was a different man entirely. Her pulse quickened.

She had seen him like this once before. The night he bartered his life for that of his wife. The night she had intervened and the night that he had called her hand.

The night that he had found her out. Her secret. His sadness, his disappointment turning over to anger in the days of late.

The smell of spilled bourbon creeping into the room.

"What - did you make her hide in the bathroom this time?" Liz glared at him and then scanned the interior, half expecting an unmade bed or upended bottle of champagne to litter the minimalist room. All sharp curves and glass. Expensive.

He stood, arms loose, empty tumbler gripped loosely in the fingers of one hand. Breathing even and controlled. Staring at her. His countenance intense and focused.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"No woman this time?" The anger in her voice surprised her and she took a backward step towards the door. She wasn't sure what she was expecting. As of late, every time she had reason to find him at this hour resulted in her walking into the precursor or remains of what had been a pleasurable night for Red. All crumpled sheets and beautiful women. Sex.

She thanked God she hadn't walked into the middle yet. The confusion of Red and these relationships, Red and a wife, Red and women somehow entirely unsettling to her. Entirely unnerving. She didn't think about it.

Returning her focus to the window, he still hadn't moved. His eyes glassy but sharp. Staring right at her face. Her eyes. At her lips lined in red.

Her heartbeat jumped again. A quickening impulse that then subsided. Anger, fear, something else?

"I'll make this quick then – I'm sure your real entertainment for the evening should be arriving shortly…" her voice trailed off as she gestured towards the interior of the room and beyond that to the bed. "A Russian this time perhaps?" She meant it as a joke but the words came out cold and biting and she took another half step backward.

"No." He said. The word full and deep. She wasn't sure if he meant no one was coming later or no they hadn't been there or no she shouldn't leave.

Such was his way with communication. With her.

"I'll be out of your way just the same – wouldn't want to intrude." The anger in her voice coming out from the edges now and beginning to color her face. Her movements. What was she behaving like this? She wasn't sure. They were alone and why did she care if they weren't. It wasn't like she knew him. Like he knew her.

Just a few nights at a cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere that made her feel close to someone who looked like this man. But wasn't. The man in front of her cold and guarded. Angry at it all. Angry at her.

His eyes began a slow perusal of her body and she felt exposed despite the layers of clothing she wore to ward of the frigid temperatures outside. His perusal stopped and started and pinned her in place.

His eyes had always been full of kindness or calculated emotion. These were intense. Predatory.

She made to step back again and started when she felt the edge of the side table on the back of her thighs. Straightening she tried to cover her actions but she could tell he noticed. Even from half a room away.

The light from the single overhead fixture cast an uneven glow about the room and she wondered if it was a trick of the light that he looked so different tonight than before. Or maybe it was the alcohol, a half empty bottle stood between the upholstered side chairs, or maybe it was her acknowledgement of his behavior, of the seemingly endless stream of women coming and going from whatever hotel room he called home that threw her perception of him.

He still hadn't moved. His head tilted slightly to the left and the fingers of his right hand latently rotating the glass in his fingers. His gaze still on her unwavering.

In an attempt at feigned confidence she raised her chin and stared back at him. Her reason for coming to his room lost in the strange intensity that was their current situation.

The sound of an errant siren passing on the street below the only break in the silence.

He took one step forward then. One polished oxford pressing down into the deep carpet and making his stance uneven. Unbalanced. She was sure the alcohol was affecting him. His nature so different from anytime before.

"Interested in filling the role tonight?" He hissed, a dark smirk playing at his lips and his eyes focused on her.

She stood, straining to hear the last of the sirens receding cry, and processed what he had said. "What?" She asked. Even though she knew. But she didn't know why he was asking. Goosebumps rising on her skin.

This was not the man she knew. The kind man who comforted her and made her dinner. Who sat with her by the fire and let her into his past. Let her into his home. Yes, this was a different man entirely.

"You seem concerned about my wellbeing tonight Lizzie. Surprised that I am without…shall we call it companionship?" He turned away from her and refilled his glass. Throwing back half of the contents in one deep gulp.

She stood frozen - unable to move and watched him. Her heartbeat thrumming in her ears and her hands suddenly cold.

"Lizzie." She hadn't heard him say her name like this before. All dark edges and intimate. "Lizzie." He repeated and she wanted to run away but couldn't seem to move.

He began to approach her. Slowly filling the space. She saw the tick of his jaw and observed the white of his knuckles gripping the once again empty glass. His eyes were dark now. The pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another and, in the detached was that an observer watches a scene play out, she saw him as an animal. A wolf maybe. Trained on her.

"Would you like to stay tonight Lizzie? The sheets are fantastic. From Paris I think." He spat the last words and glanced to the side at the mirrored headboard. "Bare your truth?" He said the last part with an ugly sneer and she was surprised to realize that only a couple of feet separated them now. Anger coming off of him in waves.

"Red." She said his name loudly but it died quickly in the well-appointed space and she heard the start of another siren in the distance. The elevator opening and shutting. A door slamming shut. What was he doing?

He stopped just inches from where she stood. His inhales and exhales tracing along her skin and causing her to shiver and regress.

"Lizzie." He said it with finality. Looking down at her and – when did he become so tall? She had always thought of him as an average man. Average stature. Average menace but here he was his chest inches away from her abdomen and she felt small. His presence overwhelming her…exciting her.

Pulling her hands up in front of her she placed them both on his chest and pushed. Pushed hard but he didn't budge. A warmth spreading through her fingers and beginning to burn. She stared at her fingernails, painted dark red and somehow so out of place in this situation.

"Lizzie." He said her name again softly and moved his hands down to encircle her wrists and held her there. Kept her from pushing him forward and at the same time keeping her from coming closer. Maintain the distance. Maintaining the space.

"Go." He said, releasing her and stumbling back. His balance disrupted by the alcohol, or the day, or her. "Go." The second time the word escaping just as a whisper and when she raised her eyes back up to his she saw regret and maybe some apologetic in his eyes. And fatigue. He looked so tired.

She turned; rushing towards the door and jerking it open as quickly as possible. Rushing towards the elevator and jamming the button again and again with her index finger. Willing the lift to come faster.

It wasn't until she was back outside. Sitting in her car and feeling the cold blow of the air that preceded the heat from coming from the events that she acknowledged it. The heat in her body. The fear that she had felt seeing him like that. Seeing him as a predator – as others saw him. And then the intensity. The feeling of him coming closer. Of almost touching her but not. Of almost feeling him on her. Of not being able to escape.

Of not wanting to escape.

Xxx

The next time she arrived at the cabin it was daylight. The birds and the flowers and the trees all in full bloom and alive with color. The road on the way up the mountain lined with cars abandoned by nearby hikers and fisherman. An escape to paradise she supposed.

Dembe left her at the drive and brought her suitcase around. Handed her a key and sent her on her way. Assured her that Red would come. That he was just running late.

She hadn't seen him since that night at the hotel other than the fleeting meetings that took place at the post office. Cooper, and Aram, and the team watching his every move and his every move reflective of the Raymond Reddington she had met early last year. Calm. Cool. Boisterous. Manufactured. Fake.

She had so many unanswered questions. Red. Liz. Naomi. Needed him alone and away from prying eyes.

She started supper and then ate it. The antique clock ticking the hours away in the kitchen and the last rays of sunlight dying in the living room window.

He still hadn't arrived. No sounds except the sounds of the house. Of impending night.

After supper she retreated to her room to change. Replacing her trousers and blouse with yoga pants and an old t-shirt. She dug her phone out of her bag and animated the screen. No missed calls. No messages.

He wasn't coming.

For some reason tears threatened the backs of her eyes and she sank down into the quilt on the bed and sat still. The seconds turning into minutes into hours.

She wanted him here. Wanted him beside her. The meal and the fire and the reading. The companionship.

Wanted so badly to see the man she had grown to know. The man with the glasses and the boots and the reassuring presence. The man who made her feel safe. Needing that man to return.

Not the man from the hotel. No not that man. Though the thought of him, backlit by the glass and disheveled. Well, it never failed to cause some reaction in her.

Wanted or not.

Quietly she worked her way down the hall, intending to stop in the living area but finding herself in front of his door. Hesitating briefly she moved her hand to the knob and turned. Easing her way in she took a look around.

It seemed like him she thought. The old quilt pulled up to the headboard and the hiking shoes neatly placed together under a chair. The well-worn chest of drawers and cologne sitting on top. She moved to the dresser and uncapped the ornate bottle. Lifting it to her face she inhaled and was assaulted by the proximity of him.

By the loss.

And by the wanting.

She slept in his bed that night. Surrounded by what was left of Raymond Reddington. The photos and clothes and tattered pieces of a life.

Slept in the bed alone.


End file.
